


New Scars

by Traincat



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel 616, Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Civil War (Marvel), Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spooning, mentioned canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6698284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/pseuds/Traincat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter groaned. “Tell me I hallucinated the part where the Punisher carried me here.” </p><p>“Bridal style,” Johnny told him. His smile was crooked and his jaw was stubbled. He looked tired, in a way Peter had never seen Johnny look tired before. He reached out with sluggish fingers to touch his face. Johnny leaned forward obligingly, covering Peter’s hand with his own. “It was a deeply embarrassing moment for you. Hi again.”<br/>-<br/>Peter and Johnny, after Peter switches sides in Civil War #5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I lay all the blame for this at Boatmom's feet, because I said, to quote the chat log, "confession I deeply want like. the retcon version of events where peter's not married and he gets carted into cap's base by the punisher and after EMERGENCY MEDICAL CARE johnny kind of curls up in the bed next to him very carefully and things are very quiet for just one moment" and she did not say "no don't do that." 
> 
> So like, I never want to think very hard about HOW EXACTLY the marriage retcon of One More Day/Brand New Day actually works and what it affects, etc, I just wanted to write incredibly self-indulgent hurt!Peter snuggling fic with conveniently established relationship, so the easiest explanation for this is a canon divergent AU where Peter was never married.
> 
> [Here is the Punisher bridal carrying Spider-man, complete with dainty ankles](http://static2.comicvine.com/uploads/original/1/15776/1217359-spider_man2.jpg) for those who wisely chose not to read Civil War.

Peter woke very slowly, his eyelids heavy like cement, every inch of him aching. He couldn’t remember where he was, or how he’d gotten there. The blanket thrown over him was scratchy. His mouth tasted like blood.

When he spoke, his voice was dry and cracked: “Anybody get the number of the bus that hit me?” 

“Hey,” a familiar voice said and Peter realized suddenly that someone was holding his hand. Their fingers were long and warm and dry. Johnny. He cracked a smile and immediately regretted it when it pulled at his split lip. “You’re finally up.” 

Peter tightened his fingers around Johnny’s, a gentle squeeze. “Something like that. Where…”

He couldn’t get the words out, because all of a sudden he remembered: the confrontation with Tony. The impact of his body against the reinforced windows. His desperate flight through the sewers and the Jester’s bomb. Jack o’ Lantern’s hand around his throat, lifting him up and back, the crack of his shoulders and the back of his head against stone. Cruel grip, tighter and tighter. Crueler thought: _“Did you know my girlfriend died of a broken neck?”_

Gunfire, and a skull.

Peter groaned. “Tell me I hallucinated the part where the Punisher carried me here.” 

“Bridal style,” Johnny told him. His smile was crooked and his jaw was stubbled. He looked tired, in a way Peter had never seen Johnny look tired before. He reached out with sluggish fingers to touch his face. Johnny leaned forward obligingly, covering Peter’s hand with his own. “It was a deeply embarrassing moment for you. Hi again.” 

“You look like hell,” Peter said. Smiling was bad, but he couldn’t help it when it was Johnny, so he just licked the blood from his stinging lip when it welled up.

“Yeah?” Johnny said. He pulled away from Peter’s touch to grab a glass of water from the bedside table. He helped Peter sit up. “Do yourself a favor, babe, and don’t look in the mirror for a while.” 

“That bad, huh?” Peter asked, tentatively raising a hand to his face. Bandages across his nose – broken and reset, then – and some terrific bruises across pretty much everything else. He hissed and Johnny tugged his hand back.

“That bad,” he confirmed, soft-eyed with concern.

Peter slumped back against the pillows, eyes closing. His head pounded. “You still gonna love me now that I look like I went twenty rounds with a cartoon mallet and lost?”

“Nah,” Johnny said easily, fixing the blankets. “I’m just hanging around out of pity.” 

"Yeah, that's what I thought,” Peter said. He rolled over onto his marginally less bruised side, wincing. He was so tired. "I get veto rights on the new model." 

“Hey, can I…” Johnny started, but stopped. Peter cracked one eye open to look at him. He was standing on the far side of the tiny cot, fidgeting a little.

“Whatever it is, do I have to get up?” Peter asked. Johnny shook his head. Peter closed his eyes again. “Go for it.”

There was a dip against the mattress as Johnny gingerly got into bed with him, curling around Peter, his chest to Peter’s back and his knees fitting neatly behind Peter’s. His hand came to rest, tentatively, on Peter’s waist.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly.

Peter hummed. Johnny was soothingly warm against his back, the human equivalent of a heating pad or getting into a hot bath. He relaxed against him, shifting so his bare feet brushed against Johnny. 

“It’s good. Don’t jostle me, please.” Johnny stiffened a little behind him so Peter managed to work up the strength to grab him by the wrist. “No, no. You’re good. You’re great.”

“I won’t,” Johnny promised. Peter squeezed his wrist. “I wanted this before, you know?”

“What, you wanted two sad excuses for supervillains to nearly murder me in a sewer?” Peter mumbled. “That’s dark, Torch.” 

“No,” Johnny said. “This. You. Us, together, crammed into a tiny bed we don’t really fit in. When I was in the hospital.”

Peter’s eyes drifted open again.

“Oh,” he said, very quietly. His grip on Johnny’s wrist tightened, dragging his arm over him. Johnny snaked his hand under the covers, hot and heavy against his bare chest, careful to find a patch of skin that wasn't swathed in bandages. His breath ghosted against Peter’s neck.

“I know you couldn’t,” Johnny said. Peter listened to him swallow, thick and wet. “But when I woke up, I just wanted you next to me, and you weren’t there and suddenly everybody knew who you were.” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, aching with it, thinking of Johnny alone in the hospital, thinking about him. Worrying about him. He should have found a way to make it happen. He felt Johnny shrug.

“I’m just really glad you’re okay,” he said. “And I’m glad we’re on the same side now.” 

Peter exhaled, slow, and wished for a reset button. Go back, find a way to fix it. Stop the whole thing from happening. Don’t let Johnny get hurt, don’t get distracted, don’t make stupid decisions. Don’t take your mask off in front of the whole world.

Don’t, don’t, don’t. It was too late for any of it.

“I should have gone out with you that night,” Peter said. Johnny had wanted him to, and Peter had thought there had been more important things to do. He’d been wrong.

He'd been wrong about a lot, lately.

“Doesn’t matter now,” Johnny said. “Just matters what we do next. Any smart ideas?”

Peter’s head felt heavy. “How about that island you always wanted? Just you, me, a lot of sand, and nobody to shoot at me or blow me up. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds nice,” Johnny said. “I think it’s a little too late for that, though. You falling asleep on me?” 

“Little bit,” Peter said. “Just a few hours. Stay?”

“Wild super soldiers couldn’t drag me away,” Johnny promised, kissing the back of Peter’s neck. “We’ll figure out everything tomorrow, right?”

Peter felt hollowed out, and nothing felt like it would ever make sense again, but he had Johnny at his back again. That had to be good enough for the moment.

“Tomorrow,” he agreed.


End file.
